


sunshine

by canticle



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Gen, Pining, Unrequited Crush, everybody loves sakamoto ryuji, sakamoto ryuji loves one (1) boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-07-15 19:20:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16069622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canticle/pseuds/canticle
Summary: My life is sunshine, lollipops and rainbowsThat's how this refrain goesCome on, join in, everybody-sunshine, lollipops, and rainbows,leslie gorea commission for alicechugstea, who requested: "third perspectiveof seeing ryuji in his first year of collegeand how c o o l he isgrown into his ownpunky jock sweet tough boyhe is oblivious to how popular he is!!everyone loves him!"





	sunshine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alicechugstea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alicechugstea/gifts).



> ilu alice this was so fun and nice to write!
> 
> this fic is from several outside perspectives of basically background characters, if the omc/ofc tag daunts you (they're not important don't worry)

 

“Took you long enough,” Kaede says, hiding her grin as Hiroko-chan settles across from her with a groan, dropping her messenger bag to the ground with emphasis. The month isn’t so far gone that the early morning air isn’t chill; Kaede’s latte still steams in the sunlight, and even though Hiroko-chan’s face is red, she pulls her scarf a little tighter around her neck. They could’ve easily met inside, but...Hiroko-chan attends another university, and hasn’t believed Kaede yet about her own’s special features. 

The area is studded with cute cafes with outdoor seating, for one. Even though the metal is cold through her leggings, the sunlight and the latte are enough to keep her warm inside. 

For another....

“I thought you said we’d be seeing something neat,” Hiroko-chan complains, both her elbows on the table as she twirls a cake pop on a stick between her fingers. Kaede checks her watch— any time now….there!

“Turn around, but don’t stare,” she instructs, and relishes in the way Hiroko-chan’s jaw drops.

Waseda University is blessed enough to have its own ray of sunshine run down its streets. He runs at the same time every morning, rain or shine, and today he’s in nothing but a loose tank and workout pants, every inch of his beautiful biceps on display. Sakamoto is a  _ national treasure _ , the friendliest boy she’s ever met; she shares two classes with him and tries to greet him as often as she can.

She waves eagerly, and Sakamoto turns his head just enough to beam back at her, one hand raised. The sunlight catches on the careful spikes in his hair, the silver piercings at the sides of his mouth and the barbells in his ears. He’s so  _ dreamy _ ; how can a boy who looks like such a delinquent be such a  _ sweetie? _ Kaede literally saw him helping an old lady across the street not four days ago.

Hiroko-chan stares until Sakamoto turns the corner and disappears, gone but not forgotten, then whips her head back to stare accusingly at Kaede. “Who is  _ that?! _ ”

“That,” Kaede says smugly as she takes a sip of her latte, “is why you should have transferred over here when you had the chance.”

The look on Hiroko-chan’s face makes her laugh.

 

* * *

  
  
  


Naruhisa’s been in the stacks for maybe half an hour, searching for the book he needs— there’s only one copy, and every time he’s visited in the last week, he hasn’t managed to find it, and the deadline for his paper is coming up, and it’s giving him  _ so much anxiety—  _ when he sees it in a stack on a nearby table. He’s always been bad at jumping in before he thinks; his hand lands on it before he sees the person also sitting at the table look up at him quizzically.

Oh,  _ no. _

“S-s-sakamoto,” he stammers, taking a quick step back— Sakamoto’s eyebrows are drawn, and there’s an equally dour-looking senpai seated across from him, her dark hair held back by an almost-invisible headband and her dark red eyes looking frustrated, but it’s only a moment later that Sakamoto’s expression turns welcoming.

“Naruhisa-kun, right?” he asks, and how does  _ Sakamoto _ know his name?? “You sit behind ‘n to the right of me in Economics, yeah? You like to tap your pen on the side of your chair when you’re thinking. You been lookin’ for this?” He gestures at the book at the top of the stack; Naruhisa nods a bare inch, a frantic up and down. “Sorry, man. I’ve been totin’ it around while I get Makoto to beat some lessons into me.” 

“Something you should get back to doing,” the senpai (and oh, oh  _ shit,  _ that’s  _ Niijima-san _ , the student council  _ president _ ) says repressively, smacking him on the top of the head with a pencil.

Naruhisa flinches back. Sakamoto’s always looked like the type of person who’s gonna explode as soon as somethin’ goes wrong, brow drawn, scowling fit to burst, but...he just laughs, and ducks his head, and picks his pencil up again. 

“Sorry,” he says again to Naruhisa, “I gotta keep it a lil longer, man. But if you’re not busy, pull up a chair, I ain’t usin’ it right now at least.” 

It’s that easy? Naruhisa blinks wide and fast; Sakamoto gestures to the empty seat beside him with a warm smile, then ducks his head and grins all the wider as Niijima-san clears her throat.

Tentatively, Naruhisa sits.

He doesn’t look up for another three hours, not until Sakamoto raps the desk beside his laptop, where he’s been frantically taking notes. He jumps, looking up fearfully, but Sakamoto’s not mad; he’s just yawning wide enough that he has to wipe his eyes after. “I gotta head out, man,” he says apologetically, snagging the book from Naruhisa's side, and privately he mourns the loss.

But before he closes it, Sakamoto slips a bookmark into where he'd had it open. “I’m gonna be here again tomorrow, same time,” he says, like an offering, like a benediction. “Show up, aight? Makoto goes way easier on me when someone else is around.”

Somehow, Naruhisa manages to agree.

 

* * *

  
  


Sanae tugs at the collar of her shirt as she trots down the steps of the building, scanning across the quad. Finally done with her make-up test— poor Nagisa had gotten a head cold the day before, and Sanae had missed all her classes to make sure she was adequately taken care of for. 

Thank  _ god _ for Sakamoto. Nagisa’s about as well behaved as any three-year-old can be asked to be, but if she’d had to take that test while looking out for her daughter at the same time Sanae probably wouldn’t have finished. 

Ah, there they are! She’d know that shock of blond hair anywhere. He’s trotting towards her even as she walks towards them, bouncing Nagisa on his shoulders with every step. Now that she’s listening, Sanae can hear Nagisa’s laughter from the building. It warms her heart, knocking away that last bit of anxiety that’s had its grip on her since the moment she handed her daughter over. 

Sakamoto is a perfect gentleman, of course, or else she wouldn’t have handed Nagisa over in the first place; she’s been in three different classes with him over the past semester and a half, bringing Nagisa with her when her caretaker can’t watch her, and he’s so  _ good _ with her.

“Sanae-san,” he says cheerfully as he approaches, Nagisa squealing as he bounces her one more time. “Y’all finished up?” 

“All done, Sakamoto-kun,” she says with a grateful smile. “I hope she wasn’t too much trouble?” 

“Course not!” Nagisa wraps her arms around his forehead and somehow, his smile gets impossibly brighter. “We had a great time, didn’t we, Na-chan?”

“There was a dog,” Nagisa tells her mother solemnly, pointing behind them. Sanae looks— it’s a golden retriever, darting happily across the quad in chase of a frisbee, returning over and over again to a group of students clustered under a tree in hope for more. “He was a good boy.”

“Was he?” Sanae asks, reaching her arms out. Sakamoto obligingly tilts, but Nagisa just holds on all the tighter. “Na-chan, we can’t keep Sakamoto-kun forever. He has other things to do—”

“Actually, Sanae-san,” Sakamoto says with a sheepish grin, “the rest of my day’s pretty clear. I don’t have anywhere else t’be till six or seven. No rush, okay, Na-chan?”

Nagisa gives an imperial-sounding sniff, her head held up like a queen. “I wanna see the dog again.”

“You do?” Sakamoto asks, patting her knee, and Nagisa nods. “Y’gotta ask your mom then, ‘n ask  _ real nice _ , kay?”

“‘Kay,” she says obediently. “Mama, can we?”

“Sure thing, Nagisa,” Sanae says. She shares a warm look with Sakamoto as he turns, and it warms her heart when her daughter bends forward and plants a clumsy kiss against Sakamoto’s forehead.

 

* * *

  
  


Yoshimi’s been waiting for this moment for  _ months. _

Sakamoto-kun is the most beautiful person she’s ever seen. He’s so friendly— he picked up her books once, dusting them off and leaving them in Yoshimi’s hands, and Yoshimi’s been  _ gone _ for him ever since. The strength in those shoulders, the gentleness in his hands, two opposing dichotomies that wrap themself up into one strong, beautiful package.

Sakamoto’s held Yoshimi’s heart in his hands since he first smiled at her, and today Yoshimi’s going to (hopefully) return the favor.

They’re waiting nervously at a coffee shop Sakamoto frequents. He’s here almost every day of the week— he comes into the morning class she share with him with a mug in his hand constantly, and Yoshimi’s seen him studying in the corner booth by the window more times than she can count. He’s not the best student, but he’s persistent and tenacious, two more qualities to tally up on the board of why he’s the most wonderful man to ever exist.

Yoshimi swallows a little thickly, runs a hand through her hair (freshly cut) and straightens her shirt (freshly bought and very flattering if she does say so herself, nothing but the best for a confession to Sakamoto!). Shes early— but then again, so is Sakamoto, who rounds the corner and waves.

From this close, Yoshimi can see the warm brown of his eyes so clearly it hurts. His dark roots are growing in, and his purple hoodie looks so— wait, no, he’s not wearing his hoodie today; he’s holding it. I-is he preparing to give it to Yoshimi??

He comes up to her with a smile, and Yoshimi quakes— 

— and he walks straight past her with a “Hey, Yoshimi-san! Ready to sit down?”

Th-this is fine. Sakamoto is a very direct person, and that’s just another quality she admires about him, right? Right.

She go insides; Sakamoto’s already hopped into his customary corner booth, and so Yoshimi heads up to order for both of them. A big, strong man like Sakamoto must take his coffee black, right? Yoshimi orders two and some of the still-warm chocolate croissants, but her stomach is too shaky to do more than pick at the flaky shell.

Sakamoto seems...distracted. He keeps checking his phone and looking around; there’s goosebumps on the bare skin of his arms, like he’s cold, but the hoodie stays deliberately folded on him next to the bench. Hopefully the coffee will warm him up—

— but he screws up his nose, tilting the cup slightly away from himself. Yoshimi swallows down her nerves. “S-sakamoto-san?”

“Sorry, Yoshimi-san,” he says with an apologetic grimace. “‘M not all that much a fan of coffee.”

Oh.

“Really?” she says, her fingers lacing together on their lap. “I— you always come in with a travel mug, I thought— “

A server comes over with another cup and saucer, and Sakamoto brightens at the smell, his smile going all mushy when she put it down. Yoshimi freezes— there’s a heart drawn in cream in the middle of it, but Yoshimi had only bought two cups...are the staff trying to help? Do they know a confession when she see it? 

Time to stop beating around the bush. “Sakamoto-san?” she say, swallowing. “I— I admire you a great deal!”

Sakamoto puts down his mug slowly, apparently uncaring about the cream mustache he’s given himself. “You— oh.  _ Oh, _ ” he says, and an expression worms onto his face that Yoshimi dreads. Quiet pity. “Is this a—” 

“I would like it if you would be my boyfriend!” Yoshimi blurts out before he can say anything else, so it’s in the air, so he knows her intentions fully.

“Sorry, Yoshimi-san,” Sakamoto winces, and bows down until his forehead is barely an inch above the table. “I’m already datin’ someone.” 

But— “You— you’ve never been seen with anyone else around campus!” Yoshimi says, horrified. 

“‘S cause he goes to Tokyo U!” If Yoshimi thought that Sakamoto smiled bright before, it’s nothing compared to this, and it makes her poor heart twinge, because,  _ Tokyo U… _ “He’s studyin’ law and works part time at the same time, ‘s gonna be a politician and change the world someday!” 

“Not guaranteed,” says a tired voice behind them, and Yoshimi jumps as a boy with messy black hair steps up to the table. There’s a feverish flush high in his cheeks and bags under his eyes, and even with that he’s one of the most beautiful individuals Yoshimi’s ever seen, even more so than  _ Sakamoto. _ “Sorry for interrupting,” he adds perfunctorily with a nod of his head to Yoshimi, but she can’t respond because a moment later Sakamoto’s jumped up and bundled him in his arms.

“Akira,” Sakamoto says with elation, with reverence, pressing a kiss to both sides of his face, “y’should’ve called me when y’started feelin’ sick, y’can’t be workin’ yourself down like this—” It’s a stream of words, chiding and caring and more tender than Yoshimi’s ever seen, holding this strange, lovely boy she’s never seen before like he’s the most important thing in his universe, and when he reaches down and grabs the hoodie she’s longed for, settling it over the boy’s shoulders, it’s like a death knell.

She slips out of the booth without Sakamoto noticing, just in time to see him kiss the boy’s forehead, fold him down into the seat beside him. “Akira, this is Yoshimi-sa— ah, are you leaving?”

How can he sound so disappointed after she just— confessed almost in front of his boyfriend like that? Yoshimi swallows down the small block of bitterness high in her chest.

The beautiful, feverish boy catches her gaze.

He looks at her with a sympathy she feels in her bones, and abruptly she realizes that this must not be the first time he’s seen this happen. Sakamoto is like a force of nature, attracting everything in his path, rising and crashing like a typhoon and leaving everything changed in his wake. He has to have people throwing themselves at him left and right. If she was Sakamoto’s, she couldn’t take it.

But this boy...he lifts the corners of his lips, just a bit, understanding, and nods back down to where her croissant sits almost untouched, then closes his eyes and presses his face into the window. Sakamoto looks at him, clearly concerned, scooting closer until their shoulders touch, and only settles when the boy raises a hand to tuck into the crook of his elbow.

She can’t help but think it’s incredibly cute, even around and through the wreckage of her own disappointed, cracked heart. They fit together like two pieces of the same puzzle.

Yoshimi sighs and settles back into the booth. Chocolate is supposed to be good for heartbreak anyway...

 


End file.
